


Sinful Worship

by DarthSuki



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Masturbation, Reader-Insert, Religion Kink, Vaginal Fingering, dfab!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 16:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: “If I were a good man, I would hold no thought of ownership over where you choose to travel and trust wholly in the Lord to keep you safe.”“But you’re not a good man, are you?”“No.” Though you can’t quite kiss, there’s a gentle press of his forehead against your own. “Though Daniel and many of the Dead Horses try to tell me otherwise, I am but one sinner among many. Many times I’ve seen you take your leave of Zion, and many times have I fostered the thought of keeping you here with me even if it means to hold you in my arms until you promise to remain.”





	Sinful Worship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CookiesAreSoHot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookiesAreSoHot/gifts).



> Written for [Iamanemotionaltimebomb](https://iamanemotionaltimebomb.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! :D
> 
> Writing Joshua is a constant love-hate thing. I LOVE writing him but god do I only have Approximate Knowledge about literally anything religious.

To say the day is hot is quite the understatement. It’s somewhere between saying that the NCR could use a few soldiers more, and New Vegas having a slight anarchy problem. Though it’s not nearly as merciless as the boiling heat of the Mojave, the sun overlooking Zion is yet the same one which oppressed you in your journey through the desert landscape–it seems to have forgotten you about as much as you’ve forgotten it. Which is, to say, that you haven’t.

It feels like a fire licking at every inch of skin, exposed or not, though you’ve learned well enough to cover as much of yourself as you can in the day’s hottest hours. Though sweat may cling to your skin in even the lightest clothes, it beats having to deal with the aftereffects of being bare to its light for too long, especially when the gel to soothe such a burn is rare, and you’ve not come across many merchants in recent months who had it in their rotating stock of goods.

But, despite the heat, despite the discomfort of sweat-slick underclothes and a muggy fog to your sunglasses, you play your part as both messenger and ambassador both to the best of your ability.

Ever since the defeat of the White Legs at Zion Canyon, you’ve been spending most of your time traveling in and out of the area in order to bring in new traders. Caravans from all over the western states had caught wind of the newly-freed lands, a well as the prospective new clients in forms of both the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. It was a good notion among a sea of misery, and you were proud to be the one to bring each new merchant to the canyon in hopes that it would help the land and people prosper beyond their burdens and hardships, especially after all they had been tormented with.

You arrived at the Dead Horses camp when the sun was yet high, though it doesn’t stop the bustle of activity that fills the cleaning against a steep cliff that the tribe had long-since made a permanent place for themselves in their kinship with both Zion Canyon and its rightful inhabitants. The merchants from your last trip are yet lingering, several days overdue for their next stop along I-15, but they seem to have found much to trade with the tribes–or perhaps they’ve found an appreciation for the simple joy in sharing stories, culture, and human kindness.

You don’t see enough of that nowadays.

The new arrivals merge easily into the larger group, leaving you to keep to yourself and merely enjoy the sight, the bustling of people in a beautiful stretch of land that could have so easily been stolen away, if you hadn’t been at the right place at the right time to help.

“I had found myself wondering when next I would see you return to Zion.”

The voice, though surprising you in its suddenness, is low and familiar. Like the warmth of a cozy nap, it almost seems to wrap around your shoulders and leave you feeling at last like you’re home.

“I wasn’t gone that long this time,” you argue gently, turning amused eyes to find none other than Joshua Graham standing less than a few feet behind you, his hands perched stern upon his hips. “I thought you would be happy, bringing all of this trade for the Dead Horses and Sorrows.”

“You misread the intentions of my words,” the man says gently, and for a brief moment your gazes meet. “If you have the free time, I would like to speak with you privately.”

Joshua Graham is normally a hard man to read, but now he is entirely impossible. His eyes are as unyielding as the ice they mimic in color, though at least they are far from being so cold and distant–if anything, you can at least gleam a certain tension in the look from how hard they fall upon you, following the motion of even your head nodding.

“I certainly have time for that, Joshua.”

_ I have time for you.  _

Those are the words you want to say, but they’re not the ones that come out from your mouth.

The man nods regardless, then turns away from you with the expectation that you would follow him. Nobody notices when you and him both take your leave from the center of the camp, nor do they notice when you both slip into the cave, down one of the tunnels and yet step into the man’s personal space. When you’d first seen it, the expanse had looked rather lifeless and barely-kept in terms of decoration, but now it lays around you with no end of homey comforts.

Old world trinkets, hung over the rock walls and scattered across the multitude of surfaces. There’s a plethora more of books than you recalled even several weeks before, though one catches your eye most among them; an old bible, one you had found in the rubble of a building long forgotten. Though it’s pages are yellowed and curled with age, finding the old religious tome had reminded you much of Joshua, so thus did you gift it to him with this sentiment upon your tongue.

And so thus did he keep it, treasured more than the rest of the more useful, readable books it seems. Something about the fact brings a gentle twist to your stomach, but you aren’t allowed the precious couple seconds needed to process the emotion before you suddenly feel a body pressing against your front-

Hard. Hot. Insistent and unyielding. You let it push you backwards, step after step until your back hits a cold wall and your face tilts to catch icy-blue eyes upon your own.

“I hope you don’t plan to take your leave from Zion once more without allowing yourself some rest.”

“I was planning to stay for the remainder of the week, in fact. But why are you so interested in my travel plans?” A smile quirks at the corners of your lips. “Worried for me being alone?”

“It’s not the particular word that I would use, no.”

“Oh?”

Joshua presses harder against you; the warmth of his body is comforting.

“Though the lord speaks with undo clarity against such a sin, I often find myself wanting more than the short time you’ve been in Zion these past several weeks.”

“I see,” you murmur, fingers gently tracing up the man’s arm. You can feel the soft texture of bandages beneath your fingertips. “And are you going to try and stop me if I decide to take another trip out of the canyon?”

Though you have absolutely no intention to set foot outside of Zion, there’s something indescribably fun in the gentle teasing that fills your words. The way it makes Joshua’s gaze fall heavier upon you, ever so slightly, despite how much he tries to hide it. The way his body presses harder against yours in a tight embrace against the wall against your back. A mirror of hot and cold, firm and soft, it starts to lick at the back of your thoughts enough that you’re caught by surprise when a hand reaches up and grabs your chin.

“ _ The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore _ ,” Joshua murmurs, in a tone you’ve come to know as the one he uses when reciting the verses from his people’s text. “If I were a good man, I would hold no thought of ownership over where you choose to travel and trust wholly in the Lord to keep you safe.”

“But you’re not a good man, are you?”

“No.” Though you can’t quite kiss, there’s a gentle press of his forehead against your own. “Though Daniel and many of the Dead Horses try to tell me otherwise, I am but one sinner among many. Many times I’ve seen you take your leave of Zion, and many times have I fostered the thought of keeping you here with me even if it means to hold you in my arms until you promise to remain.”

Somehow, you feel the breath still in your chest. The man’s gaze burns like a fire into your own, threatening to consume every last one of your thoughts until not a single one remains. His thumb presses against your bottom lip; you can feel the texture of bandages and small peak of the flame-marred flesh beneath. As Joshua slides his thumb across your bottom lip, you can’t help but shiver.

“And is that what you’re going to do now?”

“Would you stop me?”

Though there is certainly a sense of amusement in his words, you can't deny the hunger that hums in the background noise of it all. A test. A challenge. A genuine question. 

After you finally have a moment to breathe, 

You shake your head. 

It’s all the permission that Joshua requires, unspoken though explicit, so there’s little surprise in the motion when he suddenly presses his finger harder against your lips so that it gently dips between them and against the front of your teeth.

“May the Lord forgive my thoughts, but let Him most forgive what I’m going to do to you.”

* * *

From then till now your thoughts are little more than a rush, the wild desert wind with all the chaos but none of the sand. From wall to bed your bodies move, though in the end it’s only you who settles upon the time-worn sheets and mattress--minus a fair number of clothing layers from your body.

But still does the weight of Joshua’s gaze follow you, a pleasant pressure upon your mind despite the fact that your body and shame on on full display for him. Though your hand presses between your open thighs it doesn’t try to hide the motions of your fingers as they dip into your own wet heat, made wetter by the mere knowledge that he is watching you with all the keenness of a hawk.

“There are few sights that can rival that of my devotion to the Lord, and not one that is more beautiful.”

Though the touch is not his, the gentle commands laced in the man’s words are enough to make it feel all the same in pleasure, brushing against nerves and pulling soft gasps over your lips. It doesn’t take much for the fire to lick at the twisting pressure in your belly; only a few fingers, pressing deep within your folds, is enough to make your body start shivering in delight.

“ _ Joshua _ ,” the name is itself a beg, a plea, a  _ prayer _ . “Please.”

Though your eyes are shut tight, you feel the man gently approach you--the weight of his eyes upon your naked form is neither unwelcome nor unfelt. If anything it excites you all the more, trying to mimic the same intimate attention that he might if in a body more physically able to offer it to you.

“Restraint is a powerful trait to carry with oneself,” the man murmurs, voice low and tone unreadable. “You will not reach your end until I offer unto you my permission.”

It’s hardly a surprise, but still you let out a gentle whine, fingers stilling within your dripping heat to stave off an orgasm that was all-too-quick to boil over if he had allowed but one moment more of your avid ministrations. Though your body nearly  _ throbs _ with want, you know well to listen to the man’s half-hidden command.

Though climax softly slips away, the need yet remains, present in every heartbeat and mild twitch of your fingers between the soft lips of your cunt. You almost worry that you’ll make a mess of the bed below you-- _ almost _ . Instead the thought rather excites you, if only because it would leave a material mark--however temporary--to the man’s unabashed hunger. Sinful and hot and exhibited without a moment of shame, Joshua seems all too eager to give into it, to press his wants upon you and watch like a starved predator in front of a prime meal.

Once satisfied with the pause Joshua begins to pace around the bed. You can hear his gentle footsteps, each one slow and careful, as if he is debating where to step with every breath. Positioning himself to see you in the best angle, to drink up every possible view.

“Tell me,” he growls, so rough that it’s almost hard to make out the words. “If I were able to have you right now in the way a man should take his lover, how would you most want me?”

Unsure if the words are permission to start fingerfucking yourself, you tentatively slide them back inside of your heat, until calloused fingertips manage to rub against the oh-too-perfect spot over the walls of your channel. Until all you can think about is  _ exactly _ the answer to his pointed, shameless question. 

“Want you to pin me down-” you thrust fingers into yourself once, twice, and still no growl from Joshua to cease. “-to hold me down, fuck me into the bed like I’m  _ yours _ , Joshua. Whisper filthy things in my ear and tell me that I’m only  _ yours _ .”

There’s a beat of silence around you. For a moment you worry that you’ve said something wrong, perhaps even crossed an unknown line somewhere without realizing it. You are but a heartbeat away from opening your eyes and searching for the man but the sudden dipping of the bed surprises you enough to keep from speaking-

The feeling of a body pressing against your back, arms around your waist and the gentle brush of textured bandages and a hot breath against the shell of your ear.

Oh. You hadn’t been listening to his footsteps, how they had been nearing you the longer that you’d been speaking, begging for him.

“I can do some of the things you want of me,” he murmurs, words hot in breath and meaning. “What kinds of sinful things do you yearn for me to say? Do you want me to leave you debauched and shameless in your lust?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

It’s hard to think, let alone speak, so you focus mostly on thrusting your fingers at a pace that starts tugging you closer to orgasm once more, all while Joshua breaths hot and murmurs hotter things that bleed into your fantasies.

He describes to you how he might fuck you if given the ability. How he’d press you down into the mattress, hands pinned and legs open for his hips to settle between. His mouth on your shoulders and throat, marking you in ways that would leave an obvious claim upon your skin in beautiful, kiss-shaped bruises. How his cock would slide into your folds and open you wide for him, until taken by the sweet embrace of orgasm.

The man speaks all while you continue to thrust your fingers, inching ever closer to that blissful crest. Though his words do plenty to encourage such sinful pleasure, it isn’t until one of his hands lay over yours that you feel the trickle of wet heat over your nerves. 

His fingertips gently pressing between the heel of your palm and the top of your heat, rubbing gentle circles over your throbbing clit-

And that voice yet speaking, rumbling deep with a sinful lust he doesn’t even dare to hide-

Your fingers so deep, so thick, mimicking the way his cock would sheath itself over and over inside of you-

Eventually the stimulation is all too much to handle. You find your crest of pleasure with a sob of Joshua’s name, and he coos gently into your ear with every wrecking pulse of orgasm.

“Oh, god,” you moan, feeling tears of overstimulated pleasure well up in the corners of your eyes. “God. Fuck. Yes.”

A gentle chuckle fills your ears from the man behind you.

“I am hardly a fraction of that of our Lord,” he says lowly, the words a rumble of noise and vibrations that echo from your back and through your body. “Buf if you are to sin with your worship of me, then I will drink down every gasp that leaves your lips.”


End file.
